


Trouble

by Blaiddsumu



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Angst, Burns, Canon Divergence - A Tale of Two Stans, Gen, No editing we die like mne, Possession, Stangst, Stanuary, Stanuary 2018, Stanuary 2018 week 2 - Trouble, careful stan your caring-for-your-brother side is showing there for a sec, honestly the most angst i've written haha, mullet stan, tho it's probably not extremely angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 01:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,341
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13284321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blaiddsumu/pseuds/Blaiddsumu
Summary: For week 2 of Stanuary. Prompt: Trouble, with the additional prompts of possession and fear. buckle up buddies this is the most angsty thing i've ever written. not that it's overly angsty but still.~~In which Bill possesses Ford right before the stan twins' fight in ATOTS, in an attempt to stop Ford from giving Stan the journal.





	Trouble

**Author's Note:**

> I put the archive warning there as more of a just-in-case. There's no, like, gore or anything but you know how during the fight Ford pushed Stan against that glowy symbol thing? Yeah.  
> ... I also wrote most of this in one sitting, whoops. but also HECK YEAH it's hard for me to write a single mcheckin paragraph in one sitting never mind 3k words this is an excellent example of hyperfixating on something to the point of ignoring everything else around you (including time and food)
> 
>  
> 
> .... it's week two now right?

****“It’s okay. You haven’t seen your brother in over ten years, but he’s _family_ , he’s not gonna bite,” the man told himself. He was standing on the front porch of a large shack or cottage in the woods, snow piling up in large mounds around the building. He had come here after getting a postcard in the mail, the only piece of contact he’d had with his brother aside from those brief phone calls he’d never had the nerve to actually say anything. 

With a nervous breath, he reached out and knocked on the door with a mittened hand.

The door burst open, and the man could see his brother’s terrified face in the crack before suddenly getting a faceful of crossbow.

“Who is it! Have you come to st _eal my eyes_?” his brother shouted. Some distant, disconnected part of the man’s mind, the part not overtaken by panic at a _freaking crossbow pointed directly at his face_ , noted how his brother was quite honestly a mess. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in days, he had huge bags under his eyes, and he was paler than that one time he got a bad case of the flu and was sick for a week. The man took a breath, trying to remain calm.

“Woah, woah, calm down Stanford! It’s me, Stanley, your brother.” he said, confused and alarmed. When, _why_ , did his brother get a crossbow?

Stanford lowered the crossbow, recognition glinting in his eyes. “Ah, come in, come in.”

Stanley walked in but before he could get more than the briefest of glimpses of the inside of his brother’s home, there was a bright light being shined in his eyes.

“Hey- what the heck?” he shoved Stanford away from him, defensive instincts still strong from the crossbow. 

“I had to make sure you weren’t--” Stanford paused, glancing around as if he heard something and holding it scrunched up in his fist to his chest in a defensive-looking motion, “It’s, it’s nothing.” That didn’t bode well.

“Uhh, okay. Why did you want me here in the first place?” Stanley asked. He briefly thought about questioning his brother’s state of sanity (he wasn’t sure if it was more a lack of sanity, and he’d never admit it but-- that scared him. What could possibly make his brother act this way?) but figured it would probably get answered anyway, eventually. You don’t just desperately call up your estranged twin brother to your creepy house in the middle of winter after thirteen years for some mysterious reason _and also_ coincidentally be a paranoid wreck losing your sanity. He didn’t dwell on it much, however, since Stanford needed him and he wasn’t going to be distracted by probably inconsequential things.

“...” Stanford glanced around again, as if someone was watching, before he turned the skull of the skeleton (why did he have a human skeleton? Stanford, as far as Stanley knew, wasn’t interested in biology.) to look away from them. “I made a _huge_ mistake and I didn’t know who to trust.”

Trust, huh? Stanley didn’t know how to take that -- that he was his brother’s last resort apparently, or that his brother still trusted him. He hoped it was the latter.

“I- I have to show you something. Something you won’t believe.” Stanford said. Stanley noticed that despite his brother’s… _intense_ paranoia, the huge nerd still couldn’t resist adding dramatic effect, emphasising “believe” and even waving his hand in front of him dramatically.

“Listen, I’ve been all around the world, okay? There’s nothing I won’t understand.” Stanley said. The words felt dry in his mouth, as if he were telling a lie, but he didn’t know why.

He came to regret saying that as soon as his brother led him down into an elevator and into a large, dark, and rather _creepy_ room full of weird, almost futuristic technology. He stared at the gigantic, inverted triangle at the far end of the room, cables as thick as his wrist leading to four disks built into the ground and ceiling in front of the triangle.

“There is _nothing_ about this I understand.” He stated.

Stanford sighed, “It’s a trans-universal gateway, a punched hole through a weak spot in our dimension. I created it to unlock the mysteries of the universe, but it could just as easily be harnessed for _terrible_ destruction!” Stanford said, gesturing as he talked. He pulled out a book from his coat, “That’s why I shut it down and hid my journals, which explain how to operate it.” 

“There’s only one journal left.” Stanley listened as his brother stepped towards him. He didn’t know where Stanford was going with this, but he’d listen to what his brother wanted, and apparently he wanted Stanley to hold his journal, since he’d just put it in Stanley’s hands.

“You are the only person I can trust to take it.” Stanley looked at the book, taking in the gold-leaf handprint his brother, assumedly, had pasted on. It had the number “1” written in black ink in the middle of the hand, implying there was at least one other book. It also looked surprisingly beat up -- what was Stanford doing? Building science doomsday portals, writing nerd books.

“I have something to ask of you.” Stanford said in a low voice, drawing Stanley’s attention back to his twin. His brother looked him in the eyes. He looked tired and - _desperate_? That wasn’t an expression that belonged on his brother. Of course, there were a lot of expressions he’d seen on his brother in the past half-hour at best he’d been with him that he didn’t think belonged on Stanford. He subconsciously opened his mouth slightly in concern.

“Remember our plans, to sail around the world on a boat?” Stanley gaped for the briefest of moments,  not believing what his twin seemed to be implying. He grinned, feeling the most hope he’d felt in a very long time. Was his brother finally offering to go with him on the Stan’o’war, like what they’d dreamed when they were children?

He shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up like that.

“Take this book.” Stanford said, firmly. “Get on a boat, and sail as far away as you can! To the edge of the Earth!” He gestured wildly for a moment, then turned away from his brother and walked back towards the portal.

“Bury it where no one can find it!” He said over his shoulder at Stanley. He turned back towards the portal and folded his arms behind himself.

Stanley couldn’t believe it. He paused for a moment, just staring at his brother, trying to process what had just been said. His own brother brought his hopes up and then immediately brought them crashing down. Stomping on them and smothering them. He… he wanted nothing to do with Stanley.

He didn’t know why Stanford said all that, but he did know that you don’t… do that. You don’t call up your family for help after years of little to no communication, boost their hopes for reconciliation, only to tell them to get as far away as possible from you. He got mad, irrationally mad, at Stanford. His face grew angry, but he was still very, very hurt. A tiny, quiet part of his mind hidden far back whispered that he _really shouldn’t get this mad, he didn’t mean it he didn’t mean to hurt you he’s a mess he probably didn’t realize what he’d been implying when he said that_ but his fight-or-flight response was tuned to “fight, always, when you’re hurt” and apparently emotional hurt was included.

“That’s _it_ ? You _finally_ want to see me after ten years, and it’s to tell me to get _as far away from you as POSSIBLE?_ ” Stanley shouted. He couldn’t keep the hurt from his voice, probably couldn’t keep it from his face either, but he didn’t care.

Stanford stiffened. He turned back to his brother, holding up his hands in frustration. “Stanley you have no idea what I’m _up again--_ ”

He cut himself off and stopped, tensing up before slumping forward suddenly. He almost fell flat on his face but he caught himself in time.

Something screamed in the back of Stanley’s mind that something very, _very wrong_ just happened, other than the obvious thing of Stanford almost passing out or something. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and he could feel goosebumps prickle up on his arms. He had been about to shout at his brother again, but he stopped before the words left his mouth.

He watched, concerned, as Stanford straightened himself up. The movements looked wrong, somehow, as if he had suddenly become an entirely new person. And that person had no idea how to properly use a body.

Stanley took a step back, but his foot slipped on something and the noise made Stanford jerk his head toward him.

 _Wrong wrong wrong wrong this is so wrong_ his instincts screamed, but Stanley wouldn’t, or couldn’t, move _it’s the eyes his eyes his eyes aren’t right_ so he talked instead, falling back to what he always did.

“H-hey Stanford, you feelin’ okay? You look…” _unnatural, not yourself, like someone else, what did you_ do _Stanford_ “unwell. You almost, uh, fell over right there. Out of nowhere.”

A grin formed over Stanford’s face. It was too wide, and looked like someone had just pulled at the edges of his mouth. Stanley took another step back. Everything about this situation was so very wrong.

“Oh, yes I’m feeling _great_ ! I’m a little disappointed in Stanford, though. He honestly believed he could _stop me_? HA! That’s hilarious, especially considering he thought hiding his dumb journals would do anything?” Stanford said, fully turning to face Stanley as he monologued.

 “Stanford, what-- what has gotten _into_ you? You’re… talking all weird, and you’re referring to yourself in third person, and…” Stanley said, trailing off as Stanford just stood there with his unnaturally wide grin and didn’t react at all to what he was saying. He realized he was holding the journal a little close to himself, almost protective, but that didn’t make any sense. Why would he be protecting the journal from the man who owned it, who _created_ it? He forced himself to relax a little. 

“You’re… you’re not doing to hot, are you? You look like you haven’t slept in-- in days, Stanford. Or eaten much. And now you’re acting all funny.” Stanley said, forcing himself to not sound concerned. That got a reaction out of his brother, fortunately.

“Yeah, good ‘ole Sixer here hasn’t been having a great time recently! HAHA! AHAHAHA! I’m HILARIOUS!” He said. Stanley didn’t get what was so funny, but Stanford continued to laugh for an uncomfortable amount of time before he stopped suddenly and looked Stanley dead in the eyes with an unsettlingly serious expression. Stanley froze, like a deer in headlights, or a mouse about to be eaten by a crazed, yellow-eyed tiger. Wait-- yellow eyes? No, his brother has brown eyes. He could have sworn he saw a flash of yellow, slit-pupiled eyes, though, instead of his brother’s normal eyes, but they were gone before he could fully process it. He must have been thinking about that crazy tiger metaphor really hard or something, enough to start seeing things.

“Alright, Mackerel. You obviously have no idea what’s happening, so I’ll give you the quick version and we’ll make a deal, capiche?” Mackerel? What kinda nickname is _that_?

“No _duh_ , I have no idea what’s happening! I didn’t even know this place existed, or that you were creating a _freaking portal to another dimension_ or whatever!” Stanley growled.

“Exactly. SO! Sixer called you up here after years of no contact to tell you to go away. Bummer right? I bet you’re _really_ mad.”

“Thanks for stating the obvious.” Okay, so there was no way he was talking to his brother. Stanford would literally never say that, especially not in third person. He may _do_ it, but he’d never say it that way. He’d have some probably reasonable excuse with lots of technobabble mixed in, but he didn’t know crap about social skills and wouldn’t even realize how what he was saying could hurt someone. (He was well-meaning but entirely too blunt and forward with many things.) Whoever this guy was, he wasn’t Stanford. Somehow. Stanley would never have believed this before now, but he figured if his brother built a portal to another dimension, he could… whatever this is.

“You’re WELCOME! Anyways~ Sixer wanted to stop me, but we’ve been friends for years now! I just want to party. He thinks that throwing away his fancy research will stop me, but it wont. I hate to admit it, however, but while it may not _stop_ me, per se, it definitely will slow me down.” Stanford, or whoever was in his body, started gesticulating wildly and slowly pacing around Stanley.

“So I was thinking. Why don’t you give me that book there,” He pointed to the journal still held up to Stanley’s chest. “And we can make a deal. That book, and I’ll give you a chance to do the first worthwhile thing in your life and help me! Plus, you’ll get to spend time with your brother!”

First worthwhile thing? _That little_ \-- no, no! He took a deep breath. He had to stay calm.

“What’s in it for me?” Stanley said.

Stanford looked confused for a moment before grinning conspiratorially.

“Oh, you want more than that, huh? I don’t blame ya. That whole ‘worthwhile thing in your life’ came directly from Sixer here, you know that? Straight outta his mind. I wouldn’t wanna spend time with him either if I were you, HAHA!” Right out Stanford’s mind, huh? _Ouch_. That hurt, even if this guy was lying.

“So howabout this. I’m still gonna need that book and your help, but in return I’ll give you anything you’ve ever desired, and more! I can pay you handsomely for this, since your help will be extremely beneficial.” Anything. That’s pretty vague. Stanley’s brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“Anything, huh?” He mused, pretending to be genuinely thinking of something he would want instead of frantically thinking up a way to get this guy outta Stanford’s body. This guy was a con, but he was gonna con him back.

“Alright, let’s make a deal then. I’ll help you, and in exchange you’ll give me anything?” He asked, finally.

“Yup! Just… sit tight for one moment, we gotta make this official and to do that, I gotta, change into something else. HAHAHA!” He laughed, then his eyes rolled into the back of his head and he fell forward onto his face.

Stanley was about to rush over to help his brother, but he stopped himself. He didn’t like the way this other guy was talking just barely, and… The entire world just turned monochrome and had a slightly eye-straining quality about it. He turned around, feeling something watching him from behind.

“Heya, there, Fez!” said the triangle. The floating, snazzily dressed triangle. Which also had an eye, a single slit-pupiled eye. It looked… kinda cute, like a kid’s show character or something.

“I guess since you’re seeing me as, well, _me_ , I’ll introduce myself! The name’s Bill Cipher, and I’m the guy who’s been in your brother’s body the past few minutes!” The triangle -- Bill -- said. He glowed brighter whenever he vocalized. Huh.

Stanley expected something was up with his brother, but triangular possession wasn’t it. Goes to show how the world loves to mess with ya. Especially today.

“Huh,” He replied, “Figured something was wrong. Guess that explains the whole ‘changing into something else’ joke ya made there.”

“Haha, you’re quick! Well, ready to make the deal?” Bill laughed, literally turning over and spinning.

“Ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose. Never made a deal with a talking triangle before.” Stanley held out his hand.

“It’s a deal, then!” Bill held out a thin, black arm with a hand covered in blue flames.

He stopped just before he was going to shake, and the flames went out. Stanley pulled his hand back, confused.

“No, no, no. I can’t do that, Mackerel.” Bill’s voice gained a dangerous edge. 

“Wh…” Stanley didn’t know what to do. This wasn’t supposed to happen. What even was happening?

“You want me to never bother Fordsy again, but you see he’s already made a deal with me! It’ll cancel out the deal, and I just can’t let that happen.”

Oh. Crap.

Bill floated back. “Looks like you weren’t even intending to go along with my plans, were you?”

 _Crap_.

The world jittered back to color, and Bill faded from view. Stanley thought he might have seen him flying back towards Stanford. He looked around frantically, unsure of what to do. Stanford was obviously unconscious and apparently a glowing fancy triangle wanted to do something very bad. Stanley was definitely _not_ panicking. 

He felt around in his pockets for… well, he wasn’t sure why exactly, he just needed to do _something_ , and apparently that was grabbing his lighter. He looked at the lighter, then the journal in his other hand, and realized -- if Bill wanted the journal, it’d be a good thing to get rid of it, right? Then he couldn’t ever use it.

He flicked it on and held it under the book, but before the flame could catch he was tackled from the side and both the journal and the lighter fell out of his hands.

“ _Oof-_ What the-- _Stanford_??” He shouted, wheezing. His brother grinned at him and his eyes flashed yellow again, filling Stanley with dread as he realized who was really there.

“Oh, SH--” Bill punched him right in the mouth, then scrambled over to the journal.

Stanley dived at the book, landing on top of it to stop Bill from grabbing it. Bill frowned (but with a lot more teeth showing than normal) and grabbed Stanley around the middle, heaving him off of the journal.

“HAHA! Wow, human bodies sure are neat! I am in physical _agony_ from doing that -- I don’t think muscles are meant to be pushed that far haha -- and it sure is hilarious! Also, you’re fat.” Bill laughed, almost shrieking. He picked up the book.

Stanley lunged at bill, grabbing the book. The wrestled over it, carelessly knocking over things in their fight, only focused on each other. He finally managed to knock Bill over, giving himself leverage as he pulled up on the book with his entire body, but Bill would not let go and wasn’t deterred by pain or limits.

“Get out of my brother’s body, you isosceles monster! You’re the reason he’s like this, aren’t you!”

“Yeah, I am! And you know what else? I know his thoughts! I know what he thinks about you -- he _hates_ you! He only asked you for help because the one other person in his life went insane trying to forget what he saw! Every time he thinks of you, you know what words go through his head?”

No, no, he didn’t want to know. He really didn’t want to know--

“Worthless! Knucklehead! Ignoramus! Selfish! Idiot! _Traitor_!” Bill shrieked giddily. “And if he catches himself thinking fondly of you, HE REMEMBERS HOW MUCH HE HATES YOU!”

Stanley couldn’t help but loosen his grip ever-so-slightly, then. Not because of the things Bill said Stanford thought about him, goodness knows he’s thought the same about himself, but because Stanford still had fond memories of him. Bill just let slip that Stanford doesn’t totally hate him. That… He’d probably not believe it in any other situation but this guy obviously didn’t know crap about how humans worked, nevermind their emotions.

Bill grinned. Stanley stared, confused why he stopped struggling over the book, before he felt a boot on his chest and a burning against his back.

He screamed. It was agony. All perception of everything became muted, dull, drowned out by the pain. He thought -- though thinking implies he had formed logical thought when it was more of a feeling, a recognition, than a thought. He was in too much pain to actually form thoughts forming actual sentences -- faintly to himself that burns didn’t hurt this bad, he’s had ‘em before…

_STANLEY!_

That sounded like… No, he’d been imagining things. He opened his eyes he didn’t realize he closed and saw Bill laughing as he held his foot against Stanley, keeping him against the burning, searing heat. Stanley lashed out desperately and managed to knock Bill’s boot off his chest. He leaned forward, gasping for air he didn’t realize he needed. He curled up, there on the spot, shaking and whimpering from the pain on his shoulder. He almost forgot entirely about Bill when he felt a familiar six-fingered hand grab him by his arm and yank him upwards. He was faced to stare directly into the unsettling slit-pupiled eyes of his possessed brother. One of them was dripping blood.

“HA! He’s crying. Talk about _weak_ , huh? It’s just a little burn, Fezzy!” Bill forced Stanley to turn around so he could see the burn. “Oh, dang! That’s a lot worse than I thought, whoops! Haha, sucks for you, I guess.”

He dropped Stanley at that, then completely ignored him. Bill walked over and picked up the journal, laughing to himself. Stanley growled quietly. As if one burn -- an admittedly agonizing one, but the pain was fading to something more normal for a burn that size. It still felt horrible, but at least he could think through the pain -- as if one burn would be enough to down Stan Pines for long. He stood up, keeping one hand on his own shoulder, and tackled the journal out of a surprised Bill’s grip.

“AAH! What?” Bill said, tripping into the portal room. “Wow, looks like you’re in better shape than I thought! Whoops again!”

“Stay… Out…” Stanley said in a low voice. Well, he was meaning to say something more witty or eloquent but he’d take what he could get. Or say. Hey, was the portal a lot more blue and glow-y than it was before?

“No can do, bud! I made a deal, remember? And I’m not going back on having a free puppet any time soon.” Bill said, still smiling. There was an edge in his tone, but Stanley couldn’t tell what exactly it was. He stepped forward.

Bill took a step back.

Stanley stopped, surprised, but then grinned. Bill was _scared_ of him, now. Wasn’t sure why, but he was _definitely_ gonna use this to his advantage. One of the first things he learned on his own was to never show weakness, because if you do you’ll get picked to pieces before you even realized it. Another thing he learned, as a conman, was to use other’s weaknesses to your advantage.

“Stay. _Out_.” He said, more insistent this time, taking another step forward. Bill backed up more.

“Now, see Fez, maybe we can work something out. You’re made of a lot tougher stuff than I thought--” No, that’s not how it goes. Insulting the people you’re trying to calm down, even unintentionally, was never a good idea. “-- since that marking there sure wasn’t normal and yet here you are, still walking around fine and dandy! Let’s say we talk things out for a sec, eh? Besides, it’s not like you’d actually, haha, hurt this body, right?”

Maybe not. But then again, he might. He’d do almost anything to get that obnoxious shape outta his brothers mind, short of fatally or seriously harming him.

He stepped forward more, and Bill stepped back, not realizing he’d passed a barely-visible line on the ground. He began to float upward. Stanley couldn’t do anything but stare as his brother began to float towards the portal.

“Woah! Uh, oh, don’t wanna go back in there quite yet. Better ditch this body, huh Sixer?” Bill said as he slowly floated towards the bright portal, before going limp in the air.

Stanley reached his breaking point, then. Well, more a general, every brain function has now stopped point. One could only handle a small amount of strange and world-changing events in a day, after all, and Stanley was well past that point already. He stared, uncomprehending, as his brother -- his _actual brother_ , his Stanford -- flinched awake, looking around in a panic before zeroing in on his brother.

“Stanley, Stanley, help! Do something!” Stanford shouted desperately. Stanley started, eyes going wide as he finally understood what was happening.

“Wh.. What do I do? Oh, no!” He couldn’t think, he just couldn’t pull enough brainpower to think through what he needed to do in time no matter how desperately he scrambled in his own mind, he was just in too much pain and shock.

“Stan-- Help!” Stanford was beginning to pass the glowing threshold of the portal, the ends of his coat disappearing as if they had just passed through a physical barrier.

“Oh, no oh no ohnoohno! This wasn’t supposed to happen!” Stanley looked desperately around him, finally managing to wrench his gaze away from his brother, but there was nothing near him he could see that could help. He looked back up at Stanford. He was almost completely sucked through.

“STANLEY!”

A glaring burst of white-blue light filled the room and a force (an explosion?) shoved Stanley away from the portal and knocked him onto the ground, unconscious.

He woke up only a moment later, a faint light still shining on the edges of the portal. He ran up to it, pounding desperately on the metal and shouting for his brother, but to no avail. After a while he tired himself out. He finally stopped and curled up on the ground, everything that happened and the reality of the situation finally crashing down over him and escaped through form of tears.

He fell asleep like that, a deep, dreamless sleep. It would be the last good sleep he’d get for some thirty years.   

**Author's Note:**

> back at it again with the not-editing thing
> 
> oops


End file.
